Not Gould
by The Satyricon
Summary: You are Jan Levinson Gou..wait, it's not Gould anymore, just Jan Levinson. How does Michael Scott figure in that equation? Rating: PG13. Keywords: Michael Scott, Jan Levinson. Spoilers: Set after “Back From Vacation”. Be kind, review review kindly.


**Title**: Not Gould

**Author**: The Satyr Icon 

**Summary**: You are Jan Levinson-Gou..wait, it's not Gould anymore.

**Genre**: Hetro

**Rating**: PG-13

**Keywords**: Michael-Jan, The Office

**Spoilers**: Set after "Back From Vacation"

**Category**: The Office, hetfic, Michael-Jan

**Permission to Archive**: You only have to ask

**Word Count**: 1584

**Disclaimer**: Michael Gary Scott and Jan Levinson are property of NBC; I am just writing for fun, and if I owned them, all would be good and clean in the World.

**Author's Notes**: This is My second foray into the lives of those that work for Dunder-Mifflin... My favorite couple! Be kind to review, review kindly.

**Not Gould**

You are Jan Levinson-Gou-... no, the divorce is now final, thank God. So no - Gould. But it is Christmas time, and you are depressed. You don't celebrate that holiday, but you're still down. Gifts were given to friends and you got some in return... but there is no one to share the holiday with this time. Sure, you did display the cards you got, but that's different. You didn't decorate the condo like last year. You drink a vodka tonic. And think.

You sit back on the couch. For some odd... odd reason Michael Scott pops into your head while you look at the art that Gould bought a couple of years ago. You don't like that frame, but you like that painting; maybe that's why you still haven't gotten rid of it. But why does the make you think of Michael? You look over at the mantle, where the cards stand, and realize that Gould took the Menorah and left that painting behind.

Another drink. You rub your forehead, thinking of the final fight in this room. Kids. No kids. Delayed career. Career. Being a mother. Not being a father. Divorce. Divorce. You knew what you were getting into and you still did it. And you think... that was the most Gould ever said to you in months. He didn't communicate anymore, not through words, or even actions. Some people can do that, you think.

The vodka relaxes you. You need to laugh. For that reason, Michael pops into your head again. You remember meeting him for the first time. You just started with the Dunder-Mifflin, Incorporated Paper Company, and one of your first tasks was to promote Michael, from assistant manager to head of the Scranton branch. He was called the Wonder Boy. Gould just took a lateral move in his company. You could have called and told Michael the news, but you wanted to meet this Wonder Boy.

A small smile appears on your lips. You somehow remember that you told your secretary Sherry to wave Michael into your office. Then you saw him. Boyish. Clean cut. Safe. But it is how he saw you that makes the smile on your face bigger. He stood there, just staring at you, smiling. Smiled when you shook his hand. Smiled when you told him that he was promoted. Smiled at you like ... whatever his name was back in grade school, the one that had a crush on you. Michael's smile was now... _dangerous_.

You laugh now, but at the time... when you went around to shake Michael's hand in congratulations, and he went in for a hug... that was awkward. Wrong. Very wrong. Especially after you said the promotion was going to judged after a trial basis. But... you _still_ hugged him, and his smile was even bigger afterwards. Michael said maybe five words in that meeting. You spoke for thirty minutes. But he smiled every second. You laugh now and shake your head. Top salesman in the company twice, twice speaker at the sales convention and you tongue-tied him. Gould used to look and smile at you like that... a few years back. Michael smiled at you like that all that time. You close your eyes and shake your head.

The glass is freshened and you know Michael is bad for you. All wrong. You even got a written statement from your therapist. Why? You are smart and driven and he's... _Michael_. You fight for everything. He somehow succeeds, gets deals done. In 12 hours, his branch is folded, then reborn. He's out and suddenly back on top. He's annoying. You kissed him.

Oh God.

You plop on the couch. Chili's. Damn it. The ink on the divorce paper was barely dry when Michael closed that Lackawanna County deal. HE closed it. It took hours, but damn it, he got it done. He nailed that huge, huge deal. Damn Wonder Boy. At first, it was arduous, but then... Michael went into action, and it was sexy and hot. After the deal was signed, when he hugged you, you kissed him. Then you told him to take you... somewhere, anywhere.

So, so wrong.

You remember on the drive back to New York (in the morning!) that you blamed the drinking on going back to Michael's. Or that he slipped something into your drinks. You know you have to stop it before it starts. You have to figure out what he did because...

"He did something," you remember saying.

"Yes... he did his job, Doctor Terry simply states and you look at him. He is your therapist, much needed for the stress going on at work, and after the divorce.

"He... did... something," You stutter. You know the answer.

"What did he do, then?"

"Listened... talked... closed the deal... with the city, that is," You say, suddenly uncomfortable in front of the therapist.

"Exactly."

"So why... did... do that?" You wonder.

"What did you do exactly?"

"Talk... about the divorce... .about work... Michael listened. Cried when I cried. Then I kissed him. I... wanted that... to kiss him."

"Nothing more?"

"God no." No, you think. No.

"Did you... want more?"

"Me? I... no... maybe... maybe."

Michael did do something, you think. Damned Wonder Boy attracted you. The vodka in the glass is finished and no, no more for tonight. Michael is bad, Doctor Terry finally agrees with you. There is no way you should be with him, especially, ESPECIALLY after the office found out the kiss. Michael is wrong for you, the therapist says. _Then_ you tell him about Casino Night. You both sigh.

"So... he invites me... I am... excited. I buy new jeans. I go to Victoria's Secret, for God's sake. When I get there... making a two hour drive in an hour and fifteen minutes, mind you, he has another date!"

"Didn't you say this was an office function?"

"Yes." You rub your brow.

"So... was it a date or an office function."

"Yes," you answer and laugh. Doctor Terry looks at you oddly. Michael would have answered that way. And that... really does answers the doctor's question.

You channel surf. A quick sound-bite tells you some sports news about Arizona State University. Your sister lives in Scottsdale. You both used to live in Phoenix with your parents. Maybe you can visit her for the holiday. You think of where you applied to your senior year... you apply at Arizona and Arizona State, of course, but you want to leave the desert for the sophistication of the East, and apply at New York University, Rutgers, and Penn State. And you are delighted that your first choice, NYU, takes you. You get your degree, and take Manhattan, too.

"Literally?" Michael asked.

"... No," You answer. "I worked at a few companies, met Gould, and... we got married."

Gould is New York to you. He is smart and sophisticated. He... makes you feel smart and sophisticated too. But quickly... that wanes. Both of you are in business, it's less a marriage than a merger, and you want kids, and he doesn't want any subsidiaries. Intellect does not mean passion.

Your cell chimes. He calls you. Not Gould. Michael. You let it chime two more times and then answer, and you listen. He wants to go to... Jamaica. Wants you to go with him. Tomorrow. Yes. You say it again, yes. You will go.

After check-in, you and Michael go to your room. You know what one room means. You want to kiss but Michael is out on the balcony, looking at the beach. He turns and smiles and says that you both need to tan. You smile back and agree. At least he isn't rushing things like you worried about. Or, at least, you're not rushing things, like you really feared.

You take the bathroom and change into the bikini he bought in the gift shop in the lobby; who has bikinis in New York in December? You slip into the bottoms and adjust the top. The bathroom light hides nothing. Your skin hasn't seen the sun in months. You pat your tummy; no abs but its smooth. Turning, the bikini clings too tightly to your bottom. Your legs are nice, and so is your bosom. You look into the mirror. Maybe this was a bad idea. Doctor Terry said you were self-destructive, and the counter hit zero: Either be in New York alone, or in Jamaica with Michael. You never thought either would happen. Doctor Terry also said to indulge. You take a deep breath and open the door.

Michael just stares. Then he... chuckles.

You panic. You look back into the mirror and quickly check your hair, your top, make sure the bikini bottom is covering what needs to be covered. You turn, mad. "Wha-"

"You look... AWESOME!" He has that smile. That look. You made him so happy that he... laughed.

If you were here with Gould -well, he never would have taken you to Jamaica because he doesn't like tropical places, even though you would have liked it, but that's beside the point - you both would have simply changed into the swim wear and went out to tan. You wouldn't have charged into Gould and kissed him, like you do to Michael. Gould wouldn't have tumbled you both onto the bed, like Michael does, laughing, making you laugh, too.

You two wouldn't have... had sex.

But Michael is not Gould.

And neither are _you_.

**The End**


End file.
